Away We Go, Alone
by cynelic
Summary: How did everything spin out of his control so quickly? More to the truth, how did the sprawling arms of a werewolf and the wounded pride of a child thwart Dumbledore's meticulous planning so brilliantly? AU following an altered HBP. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This story is AU following an altered version of events at the end of HBP. This will be quite lengthy and will earn its M rating in later chapters. Updates should be expected once or twice a week.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K.'s. No money is made. I'm just playing with them for a while.

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><p>Calm. Calm and dark. For as fast as his mind was spinning in that moment, those were the only two observations that Severus could grasp, the only two conclusions drawn from his senses that he could brand with a name. A heavy sort of darkness that planted the thick soles of his boots flush with the smooth stone of the tower, a tight blackness that squared his shoulders and straightened his elbow as he raised his ebony wand against the one man who offered at least the <em>illusion<em> of redemption. His expression inscrutable, hiding the revulsion at seeing Bellatrix's slow, drugged smile and Greyback's collapsing, half-bared chest he shifted his weight to his heels, allowing it to look as if he was giving Draco the opportunity to follow through on the Dark Lord's orders.

"_DO_ it, Draco!" hissed Bellatrix, her chin resting in the hollow of her nephew's shoulder, eyes locked on Dumbledore's hunched form with a desperate, manic glee.

Draco's lip quivered as his wand arm lowered and shifted slightly to the left, a movement that went unnoticed by the others in the room but sent a clear message to both Severus and Dumbledore. The Professor felt the shaky tendrils of connection in the forefront of his mind and he reached out to them desperately, sure that Dumbledore had one last piece of information to feed to his spy, one reason to believe that he wasn't insane for agreeing to the planning made by a dying man. Waiting for the murmur of the old man's voice, Severus was surprised when the faint flickers of a memory skirted along the edges of his consciousness, made stronger as he felt Dumbledore set his jaw and continue. Still surveying the physical scene in front of him with a fraction of his attention, he settled himself inside Dumbledore's mind to watch what he was sure to be his direction for the rest of the war, for the rest of the time he would bleed to keep Lily Potter's son alive.

_Spring 1976_

The infirmary was still in the late hour, with all beds unoccupied save one. Severus watched as a much younger Dumbledore slowly approached the bed where his teenaged self lay, the deep breathing and loose jaw easy indicators of a dreamless sleep.

"Ah, Headmaster- if you were planning on speaking to Mr. Snape I'm afraid it will have to wait until morning, I've only just set him to sleep and he'll need time before his skin re-grows, I'm planning on keeping-"

"No need, Poppy, no need. I simply came to inquire upon the condition of Mr. Snape's injury. You are certain that there's no chance of infection?"

"None, headmaster. The wounds themselves were shallow, although how he managed to get away from a _werewolf_ with his life is beyond me…a werewolf, headmaster! How was I not informed? There are potions, healers much more qualified than I who should be notified that the school is opening up its students to this kind of attack…" Poppy stiffly replied, with deliberate emphasis on just _who_ was to blame.

" You are well aware of the consequences should anyone become aware of Mr. Lupin's condition, it is a delicate situation for all involved."

Poppy's grip tightened on the chart in her hand as she took one step toward Snape's bed.

"What's _delicate_ headmaster is that I had to treat a terrified, incoherent _child_ for a wound that was well outside of my experience on direct orders that I not contact anyone at St. Mungo's. You have my loyalty, Albus but do know that I made an oath."

Dumbledore shifted. "Poppy, under any other circumstances I would of course encourage you to seek any avenue available to secure the health of our charges-"

"-_My_ charges"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly at this. "While you are undoubtedly welcome to entertain your own opinions of this terrible event, I must ask you respect the position I am in, all of the children at this school are under my care."

Poppy bristled once more, her chin set defiantly as it was clear that fatigue and fear for the young man asleep behind her narrowed her patience already that night. "They are under your _authority_, Albus. They are in _my_ care. Mr. Snape almost _died_ tonight, and yet you still sought my discretion first!" Shrinking back at her own volume she lowered her gaze before letting out a breathless chuckle, "Although I suppose some good will come of this, I imagine young Mr. Snape and I will be seeing much less of one another with Mr. Black gone."

"And where is it you would have Mr. Black go?" Dumbledore added, his head quirked to the side in mock curiosity.

"Well _surely_ he is to be expelled! His carelessness and disregard almost resulted in the death of a student and a werewolf set loose on the grounds! That warrants more than a scrubbing of the walls of the owlery!"

"And just how would you have me explain his expulsion? To punish Mr. Black would be to punish Mr. Lupin much more severely. Of course you are not partial to his exposure…"

"Of course not, Albus!" Poppy added, the stress of the night set squarely upon her shoulders. "But so long as we are handing passes for innocence, Mr. Snape did nothing this night but answer to Mr. Black's taunts! From what he told me between screams, _screams,_ Albus…he went to the tunnel based on a prior summons from Mr. Black. This was _planned_! This was not some impulsive schoolboy prank!"

"I am sure that had a confrontation taken place, Mr. Snape would not hesitate to raise his wand. We can only be thankful for Mr. Potter's good conscience and quick thinking."

Poppy took another step back from the headmaster, her bottom flush with the edge of the infirmary bed. Her eyes cleared as she stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. The tension in her body hunched her shoulders as she let out a shaky breath as if admitting defeat. "You have my word, headmaster. Nothing will be said."

"Thank you, Poppy. I'm sure Mr. Snape will be awake soon enough to thank you for your efforts. Try to rest and I will return in the morning."

The memory flickered once more in the front of Severus' mind, greying and then coming into grainy focus inside the Headmaster's office.

Severus felt his throat constrict as he saw Black and Potter sitting in front of the Headmaster's desk, the dog slumped with uncertainty and Potter casting worried glances to his friend every few seconds. With startling clarity, he _knew_, he _knew_ it was still the night of the attack as he saw Potter in the same rumpled sleep clothes and trainers that he wore when he hauled him out of the tunnel and formed that damned life debt. How he tortured himself all those years ago- wondering what was said, what reasoning Black gave to Dumbledore to allow him to walk free with a fucking _detention_ for attempted murder.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before resting his elbows on the polished wood of his desk. "Mr. Snape is currently in the infirmary sleeping off the worst of his recovery." Sirius exhaled audibly at this. "He is thankfully not infected and your friend will be able to remain at the school. Mr. Black, is there anything you would like to add?"

"Am I to be expelled, headmaster?" Black asked meekly.

Of _course that's the first question he asks_. Severus tasted blood in his mouth as he bit down on his tongue, clamping down on the anger rising in his body to tangible levels as he wondered why the hell Dumbledore was showing him this _now_, when his own death was minutes away. Was this some sort of overdue apology? A lunatic's attempt at gallows humor?

Memory-Dumbledore turned his gaze to Black, before quirking his lips up in a tiny smile. "No, Mr. Black, you will retain your position at this school." At this, both Black and Potter exchanged relieved looks. "However, I must remind you that your actions have consequences and had your friend not intervened tonight, you would be indirectly responsible for not only the death of a peer, but in the exposure and condemnation of Mr. Lupin."

_Indirectly responsible? He told Black that he was only indirectly responsible for what happened?_

Black squirmed in the armchair, turning his body away from the fire. "Of course Headmaster. It was only a prank! I only wanted to give him a scare! Snape's always coming after us; we just wanted him to back off a bit! It was only a prank!" Black cried, his voice thick with hysteria as he felt his position as one of Gryffindor's golden boys slipping through the Headmaster's hands.

"I would hate to think you capable of doing something like this as anything other than just a prank, Mr. Black. As it stands you will serve detention with Mr. Filch this Friday and you will not be accompanying your friends on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

_A detention and a trip to Zonko's? That's what it cost him?_

"Of course, Headmaster, thank you. I apologize if you are disappointed in me." At this Dumbledore smiled, standing up slowly from his chair and clasping an arm on Black's shoulder.

"Foolishness is not simply a symptom of youth, Mr. Black. However, it would be best if you would keep this level of recklessness behind you, my boy. Now, it has been a tiring night for us all and there are two beds in Gryffindor tower that should never have been empty this night. Understood?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Black and Potter replied in chorus.

Sinking back into his chair, Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed a weary hand over his brow as the two young Gryffindors shot each other nervous grins and bounded down the staircase.

Severus gritted his teeth, his wand still aimed at the Headmaster and fury boiling deep within him as he realized that time was running short. Bellatrix's ragged nails now clung desperately to Draco's jacket, nearly puncturing the thick material. Why would he show him this now? It was clear Draco would not be able to follow through with his task, and just as the curse unfurled tightly in his mouth he saw her face in his mind. _Her._ Always at the worst times.

He was once again solidly inside Dumbledore's mind, unsure if he ever left or if his anger drove the old man out. The old man's health was truly failing now, one of the most powerful Legilimens in the wizarding world was reduced to projecting memories with grainy texture and muted sound that showed like flashes of lightning in his mind.

It must have been Valentine's Day. Ridiculous glitter was scattered along the corridors, the small pink hearts that gathered on the ground moved by a recycling charm to fall once more from the ceiling. It was clearly past curfew; the corridors were shadowed from the torches lining the wall and empty, save for an odd professor or two out for rounds. Severus watched as Dumbledore rounded a corner before coming up short on James Potter and Lily pressed up against the castle wall. Instead of reprimanding the rule-breaking Head Boy and Girl, he stopped behind a suit of armor and watched with twinkling eyes as James Potter reached down and scooped up a handful of the fallen hearts and dusted them over her fiery hair. Severus felt his breath fall short in his chest as Lily giggled and grabbed James by the tie, sliding her lips over his and running her fingers through his perpetually windswept hair. She pulled back and straightened his glasses and Severus heard her whisper even through Dumbledore's failing attempts at projection, "I love you, James."

Calling on every reserve of strength he had left in his mind, Severus stopped himself from crumpling at her words as Dumbledore sent him image after image. James and Lily's wedding. Lily sliding her hand over James' shoulder as she sat down beside him at an Order meeting. Lily bounding up happily from her chair to greet Black at yet another fucking Order meeting. An Order meeting that was called because of information _he_ bled for. Dumbledore holding an infant Harry and informing them that they must go into hiding. The look of disgust on Dumbledore's face as he knelt before him in that clearing, all those years ago.

Severus could take no more. Breaking the connection with all the finesse of a battering ram, he reeled back and glared at the Headmaster. He knew _exactly_ what Dumbledore was playing at now, providing him with the ammunition to deliver a spectacularly _believable_ Killing Curse, one that allowed no room to question his loyalties. _Using her against me, still, after I have agreed to do everything according to his thrice-damned plan, twisted my obligation so for some sick reason I suffer for him as much as I suffer for her…_

His contemplations of Dumbledore's manipulations were cut short as the old man rasped quietly from his cowering figure

"Severus. Please…"

Steadying his wand, he stepped up behind Draco so as to move him aside and as his robes settled once more around him, the moonlight cut further into the room. The silver light played on Greyback's form, illuminating a flicking tongue that traced his incisors and a gleaming chain strained against the thick hair on his meaty forearms.

Draco whirled around, his back catching Severus' side, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed as he advanced on Greyback. "Where. Did. You. Get. That." he spat, transforming immediately from cowering child to newly initiated Death Eater.

Greyback smiled wickedly, fingering the chain on his arm and in the new light Severus recognized the piece at once. It was one of Narcissa's favored pieces of jewelry, surprisingly understated for a woman of her vanity and position, three rows of fine silver interlocking chains, goblin-made and extremely resilient.

"A gift from the Dark Lord. Or was your _mother _the gift?" Greyback snarled. "He knew you wouldn't be able to take out Dumbledore. And he doesn't even have a wand! And you Still. Can't. Do. It. Just like your father, a coward, a failure, hiding behind Narcissa's robes to take the punishment for the sniveling Malfoys…and what a pretty robe it is at that…"

Draco snapped then. Knowing that Greyback liked…_souvenirs_ and all too familiar with the shadows lining Narcissa's and Lucius' faces, Severus watched as Draco took one shaking step toward the werewolf and snapped up his wand. Greyback staggered back a few paces, nails raking over his face as blisters sprang up in neat lines over his body. Severus turned his eyes to the Headmaster, now swaying dangerously close to the edge of the tower, his breath escaping in loud, garbled rasps as Draco's voice cut clearly through the tension.

"Avada Kedavra!" Draco yelled cleanly, summoning the poise and calculated cruelty that Lucius displayed so proudly before being broken by the Dark Lord. Greyback's last breath puffed out in a surprised whoosh, his thick torso bending backward over his legs as his body crashed into the Headmaster's, both figures sprawling inelegantly over the edge of the tower, one beast already dead and one wizard seconds from it.

Seconds later a sickening thump trailed up from the ground below. Severus fought the bile rising up from the pit of his stomach as he calmly stalked to the edge of the tower and gazed down and the mangled bodies.

Pushed aside by Bellatrix's small frame and sickened by her coos of praise given to a stunned Draco, Severus flattened his palm against the cool stone of the wall and attempted to gather his thoughts. This was _not_ how it was supposed to happen. Later, when the Dark Lord would rifle through Draco's thoughts for a replay of tonight's action he would see hesitation from not one but _two_ of his followers. Draco, he would expect. Did he not expect him to fail this whole time anyway? But no, he would see the hesitation of his spy; he would see the hate in his eyes but also the inaction. Unnoticeable to anyone but a gifted Legilimens, his master would _surely_ focus on the silent conversation held between him and Dumbledore, and he would not rest until he knew exactly what was said…and that….that was one lie he could not spin. For what could he say? That Dumbledore was pleading for his life? Say that old fool was trying to sway his loyalty? No, because Dumbledore said that aloud! No, and he would not be given Hogwarts for this failure, it would be given to Lucius, now newly reinstated in favor by the actions of his son. Or if the Dark Lord was feeling particularly malefic, _Bellatrix._ His stomach rolled at the thought.

Without the protection of the school and the use of the portraits there is no way he could keep the students safe from the Dark Lord. Hogwarts would soon be made a torture chamber for those whose parents did not have the Dark Mark, a nightmare and a tomb for those of less pure blood. His usefulness as a spy gone, the Dark Lord would revisit all of the instances in which Bellatrix questioned his loyalty, his motivation…a notion that the witch herself knew, as she turned to him with heavy-lidded eyes and bared her teeth.

Going to the Dark Lord now would be going to his death, and while that idea didn't seem unappealing at the moment, leaving Lily's son to murdered because of his failure sure as hell did _not._ He would _not_ bring about the deaths of Lily's entire family.

He could not. He would not have the blood of another _Potter_ on his hands.

How did everything spin out of his control so quickly? More to the truth, how did the sprawling arms of a werewolf and the wounded pride of a child thwart Dumbledore's meticulous planning so brilliantly?

Seeing Potter begin to stir from the release of Dumbledore's spell, he sent a silent stunner his way followed by a reluctant cushioning charm. He wouldn't put it past the boy to crack his skull before he could rush in to save the wizarding world wand blazing.

Following the gleeful Death Eaters and a still silent Draco through the corridors and ignoring the shattering glass and flames trailing behind Bellatrix in her wake, Severus knew a decision had to be reached. Forget the plan. It just all went to ashes anyway. Hogwarts would truly be the Dark Lord's and he would be dead before the sun came up.

Passing through the gates and the last of the school's protective wards, he took a pained, last glance up at the castle and wondered not for the first time how he always managed to royally fuck up everything that matters.

Perhaps they were right. All of them. His father, Potter, Black, even Lily the last time she spoke with him…and Dumbledore, the last words he whispered in his mind before he waited for Severus to deal him the killing blow and be crucified for it…

As each Death Eater touched their wand to their mark and disapparated, Severus kept to the back, left his wand at his side and whooshed away to Spinner's End to figure out what he next move would be.

They were right. All of them.

He _was_ a coward.

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><p>Please Review!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K.'s. No money is made. I'm just playing with them for a while.

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><p>Pathetic. Unable to compose himself enough to stand through the pop of apparition, his knees groaned at the strain of standing upright on the uneven floorboards. Silently slashing his wand through the air with short, staggered strokes Severus reinforced the already <em>vigilant <em>and _constant_ protective wards that swam through the air of his home quite literally with the consistency of his sluggish blood flow. Snorting at the thought of the old Auror pegging around his home and grunting his approval, Severus walked unevenly to the threadbare chair to the left of the hearth and slumped into the sagging frame. Tapping his ebony wand on the uneven stones to an unnamed childhood tune he overheard once over the static of his father's battered radio, a small opening emerged and offered a rather unremarkable stick of birch. Grabbing the wand and flicking his wrist rather dramatically, he felt his magic unfurl from a tight coil somewhere deep within him and reluctantly respond to this unfamiliar conductor. As the flames sprang to life, he unceremoniously tossed the ebony stick into the heat and watched as the wood splintered and fell away from the core that not fifteen minutes before was shaking with a summoned darkness, waiting to end the life of his unarmed master. There we go. Let them track him now.

Summoning a grime-covered glass and a half empty bottle of firewhiskey, Severus poured himself three fingers and swirled it 'round with an elegant, continuous, movement. No, there would be no romanticizing this introspection, no waxing poetic about the burn of the whiskey dulling the swirl of his tangled emotions. He was never one to indulge, never one to choose a stiff drink over forcing himself to just _fucking_ do it, whatever it was. Gripping the glass until a dull crunch and a soft plop broke the silence, he watched as blood pooled from a line running down the length of his index and middle fingers. He grabbed the leaking base with his uninjured hand and poured it over the wounds, clenching his teeth at the numbness and closing his eyes in satisfaction. There we go. Numb. Familiar.

His lap a rapidly drying pool of whiskey and blood, Severus toed off his thick boots and relaxed his head on the back of the dented armchair before resolving himself to another vow he knew he'd eventually break.

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><p>Hermione sagged against the headboard of Harry's bed in the dormitory, encircling him with unsteady arms and supporting him with her smaller frame. He was mostly quiet now, only letting out a whimper after every four exhales or so. Ginny and Ron stood off to one side of the bed in what appeared to be a silent show of support, but Hermione was not so beside herself with grief that she failed to notice the jealousy and resentment simmering just below the surface. Refusing to meet their eyes, she tightened her arms around Harry's shaking frame and nestled her chin into the side of his neck, knowing the scrawny neglected boy lurking below the surface of the strong wizard he would grow to be would never quite leave him.<p>

As much as she loved the Weasleys for playing surrogate wizarding family to both her and Harry (albeit for two very different reasons), for offering infinite hospitality in the cramped but cozy Burrow, she could not check her rage at the overall _thickness_ of the lot of them. Having come from poverty, she could understand their rather warped view of posessiveness and entitlement, with both Ginny and Ron viewing Harry and herself as definitively _theirs_, respectively—however far from the truth that in fact may be. While she did love Ron with a sort of slow, comfortable affection, she was never unaware of the reason for their friendship in the first place, never ignorant of the balance that kept them outside of one another with Harry at the fulcrum. If she loved Harry as she would love a brother (and she did), then she loved Ron as she would love a favorite cousin—a steady, familiar understanding that at times lacked the depth of a higher regard. Now was certainly not the time, but as it was clear now more than ever that this was no longer a game, no longer an adventure that ended with a trip to the infirmary and stern looks that softened into smiles as the train pulled away from the station for yet another year, she would have to get around to telling Ron just where she stood. Particularly now, seeing as Dumbledore would no longer be able to—

_Dumbledore._

That's why she was here, wasn't it? Sitting on this bed and murmuring soft words of comfort that didn't seem to be words at all into the ear of her friend, her friend who just saw _another_ father figure fall to his death?

Hermione pulled away from Harry's back, letting him lean forward and rest his head between his knees as she ran her hands up and down his shoulder blades, drawing out the tension that pulsed through him as if he were cut from stone.

_Dead_. Dumbledore was _dead_. That was about as clear as the picture got, after Harry burst into the common room and all but dragged her and Ron upstairs by the neck of their robes. Killed by Draco Malfoy, not by curse but by a seemingly happy accident for the newly initiated Death Eater. And _Snape_. Had she really always been wrong about him? While Harry grumbled that he didn't deal the final blow, he certainly looked like he was prepared to, his face blank and full of rage as Dumbledore pleaded for something.

_Severus. Please._

Although she knew that Harry's account of things certainly wasn't without bias, he always had a bit of a blind spot whenever Professor Snape was involved, a black rage that she thought to be more of a projection of many different things instead of simply the man himself. Treating the lot of them terribly for the past six years was all well and good in declaring him a bit of a bastard, but an unhinged murderer? Not exactly. And besides, what does the fact that he _didn't_ follow through with killing Dumbledore mean? In their world, this world of magic where intent was _everything_, wouldn't the fact that he had enough hate in him to summon the killing curse on the defenseless Headmaster damn him just as much?

Her train of thought leaving her suddenly cold, she pulled Harry back against her and settled more comfortably on the bed and reclined almost completely. Knowing that McGonagall was sorting out the bodies and the ministry, taking care of all of the logistics of death only adults seemed to immediately consider she closed her eyes and put her friend to sleep. Let Ron and Ginny seethe in the corner. Let Greyback rot in the soft soil of the grounds. Let McGonagall plan the burial of their General.

And for now, let her friend find comfort in the safety of her arms knowing that when they woke in the morning, they would be at war.

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><p>Severus woke with a deep crease in the muscles of his neck some two hours later, a short nap for some but a sufficient rest for a spy of nearly twenty years. Looking down at his lap with disgust he quickly cleaned himself with a wave of his wand before he lost it completely and ripped off his clothes in an embarrassing tantrum for a man of his age. Well, embarrassing for a man of his age that wasn't honestly two wrong moves away from coming completely unhinged. So his weakly cast spell on Potter would have worn off by now and the boy most likely ran to McGonagall the second his legs regained feeling, telling her about the greasy Potions master who was just <em>dying<em> to finish Draco's job. She would shake her head disbelievingly, but not _too_ hard because after all, he was a Slytherin, a Death Eater, and was one deck short of the trump card that was the Gryffindor beacon of honesty and nobility. He snorted. _Right._

Knowing enough about wizarding funerals from when he went with his mother to the graves of her parents (not seen of course, standing in the shadows of the oak tree behind family that did _not_ marry an abusive brute of a Muggle), he was sure that a wizard of Dumbledore's status would be buried within 24 hours. Good. That was enough time. Just enough. Lifting himself up from the sunken cushion, he grabbed his cloak from the back of the chair and set off back to Hogwarts.

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><p>"Honestly Ron, you're complaining about that <em>now?<em> Are you completely incapable of thinking of anything other than yourself?" Hermione sputtered, shifting her weight closer to Harry on the common room sofa.

Ron's eyes darted to her thighs and darkened, although his voice quieted to a rough grumble. "_Honestly _Hermione, would it kill them to bring a whole tray? Would it honestly to kill them to bring _food_ instead of tea and toast?"

Hermione had suggested that the three of them order breakfast in the common room, knowing Harry would hate the clatter of the Great Hall and the eyes that would once again shift to him in both question and accusation but would never ask them to forego it just for him. Ignoring Ron's grumbling she rested her hand on Harry's knee and squeezed gently, staring into the flames and chewing absently around a square of toast.

After arguing with Harry to at least eat _something_, the three of them went to their respective dormitories and donned their dress robes and formal caps for Dumbledore's funeral. Leaving about an hour before their presence was requested at the site on the edge of the grounds, they made their way through the castle unseen, save the portraits and ghosts that proved to be as capable of pitying looks and hushed whispers as those among the living. Hermione sat between a stiff-backed Harry and a sprawled Ron, licking the occasional bead of sweat from her top lip and fluttering her robe to make a breeze from the sticky, still air. After what seemed like hours people seemed to trickle in from all directions, the older students solemn in their grief and the younger bouncing in their walk in the sort of pent up energy that only surfaced with the unexpected cancellation of classes. Because really, even the clearest inner eye in the highest tower wrapped in the greatest number of ridiculous scarves could not have foretold Death Eaters storming a (supposedly) secure castle and one of the most celebrated wizards of all time falling to his death by the wand of an arrogant _child._

She might have laughed if she was certain she wouldn't vomit if she did.

The memorial itself was not at all what Dumbledore would have wanted, she thought sadly as she eyed the disintegrating fringe on Ron's horrid dress robes. Ministry workers rallying for the exposure of their department by the press that was swarming the grounds despite Professor McGonagall's best efforts, claiming that they knew _just_ what Dumbledore would have wanted if he wasn't taken from us so tragically…shame, that is. The Minister managed to spectacularly cock up the altered version of the events on the Astronomy tower, making it seem as if a rogue band of Death Eaters acted outside of the orders of their Lord, despite the fact that even the most dim-witted troll could cobble together a few reasons why Dumbledore's death might make things just a bit easier for Voldemort. The Ministry clung to the "out of sight, out of mind" philosophy when it came to this war to an obscene degree.

After the final words of parting were spoken, Hermione joined Harry and Ron out in the tall grasses by the lake, ambling on without purpose or direction and enjoying the slightly cooler air as it clung to their overheated skin. When the Astronomy tower came into view Hermione was quite literally jolted out of her thoughts as Harry gripped her upper arms tightly to the point of pain and pulled her flush against his chest. This blind grapple for comfort was the one that finally put Ron over the edge as he stared at the two of them, Hermione still and calm against Harry's heaving chest and snapped his twitching jaw shut, stalking off to the open stretch of land on the edge of the grounds near the Forbidden Forest. Hermione sank to her knees in the grass, forcing Harry down with her and the two sat with their backs to Ron and his fit of jealousy.

Severus Snape, finally spotting his chance after hovering on the edge of the grounds for hours in full robes and hood drawn despite the stifling heat slipped his wand from his sleeve and raised from a crouch so as to get a better angle at the red headed boy paying absolutely no attention to his surroundings. With a nonverbal stunner and summoning charm, Severus took Ron's forearm in a tight grasp, and with a slight sneer at the boy's frozen, watery-eyed surprise apparated away once more to Spinner's End.

Dropping him unceremoniously on the tattered sofa, he gathered his restraints and the various potion bottles already lined up on the slanted coffee table and set to work.

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><p>Things start heating up in the next few chapters. Please review!<p> 


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